


Delayed Departure

by theundeadsiren (rhoen)



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 11:11:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3444941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhoen/pseuds/theundeadsiren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick's flight home from France is delayed due to bad weather, and there's not much to distract him other than an attractive young guy who is stuck waiting too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delayed Departure

**Author's Note:**

> I suck at titles.  
> I also suck at keeping things short. This was _supposed_ to be just 'a few hundred' words long. That didn't happen, obviously... Suggestion/request from [wholegraintaire](http://wholegraintaire.tumblr.com)  
>  It's 5am. Cucumber killed me.
> 
> Oh, as always: un-beta'd.

**You may not take this fic and edit or reupload it - in whole or in part - without my express permission. This includes translations.**

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Thank you for respecting my wishes

* * *

 

Rick wasn’t exactly a fan of flying, and this just added to the list of reasons he’d much rather be on a train, or a bus or _something_. He might not be comfortable but at least then he’d be going somewhere. Okay, maybe not very far in this weather, but it took much longer for trains to grind to a halt than it did airplanes.

If he were in the UK, he’d be unafraid of trying to find some other way home, but he wasn’t in the UK – he was stuck in Charles de Gaul airport on his own. The announcement of delays due to bad weather had come in about half an hour before his flight was due to board, some two and a half hours earlier. He’d found a news channel that was, mercifully, in English, and it seemed that a storm front moving north was the cause of the problem, although he moved away from the TV after half an hour, bored by the loop. He’d tried a variety of things to keep himself occupied – napping, reorganising the hand-luggage in his rucksack, pacing, playing some bubble burst game on his phone, hunting for a socket to charge said phone… and also staring at the guy curled quietly in the corner of the lounge, scratching away at a notepad. He seemed much more comfortable on the floor that Rick felt on the chairs, although, unsure if the guy could even speak English, Rick had decided he’d just embarrass himself if he tried to say ‘hi’ to the guy – he couldn’t speak French, and the guy could be Dutch for all he knew. Slender, and with long limbs drawn up, the guy was obviously tall, and he had pale skin and strawberry-blonde hair that made him look… well… attractive. Very attractive. And probably foreign, although Rick couldn’t justify that thought.

He was distracted, watching the way the guy was biting at his lower lip, when he suddenly realised he’d been caught staring. He couldn’t quite look away, something about the guy’s gaze captivating him. And that small, uncertain smile he was given… Stunned, he barely managed to return it before he tore his gaze away, suddenly intensely interested in the stitching at the hem of his jumper. Shit.

He could hear the guy rummaging in his bag, and when Rick finally gave in and looked round again, the blonde was staring intently off into the distance, arm trapped between his drawn-up knees and head, the cover of an unmistakably British guide to Paris held in his hand, the cover angled towards Rick. Was that… an invitation? Fuck if he knew. So Rick just looked away again, staring forlornly at the departures display trying to forget about the guy in the corner who he kept drawing his attention.

Rick lasted another ten minutes. Sighing, he laid his hand heavily on his rucksack, dragging it closer and hefting it and his jacket up as his stood. He was bored out his mind; there was nothing to do, and nowhere to go. He might as well make a total idiot of himself.

The guy had put the guide flat on the floor, clearly uninterested in looking through it, and looked up, almost surprised as Rick moved closer. He seemed a bit breathless as he spoke first, a smile lighting up his face.

“Hi.”

“Hey, um…” It took Rick a moment to recover from the fact that the other guy had spoken first, and also the way that the smile caught him in the gut. He hadn’t really expected that, and found that he was too tense to smile back. “I just wondered if you’d like to grab a coffee or anything.”

Not really a great way to start, he thought with a sinking feeling. The guy didn’t seem to mind, though, just shook his head, the smile still lingering on his lips.

“I’m good, thanks,” he was assured. “But I can come with you if you want to get one?”

The offer made Rick hesitate – he didn’t actually want a drink himself, just… something to do, someone to talk to. “Uh, I don’t really drink coffee,” he explained awkwardly. And even if he did, he doubted he’d do it at this time of night – it had just been an excuse to talk to the guy. He wasn’t quite sure what to say when the blonde gathered up his things, standing anyway.

“I was thinking of going for a walk,” he explained with a small smile. He was tall – maybe half an inch taller than Rick, and definitely incredibly attractive. It was strange to realise, but Rick caught himself thinking of the guy as beautiful.

Rick heard himself responding, taking a step back as he accepted the company. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed. “I’m Rick, by the way.” It was comforting to fall back into a formal greeting as he offered his hand, but when it was taken, his thoughts scattered again, and he barely heard the response.

“Kieren,” the guy smiled. Did he ever stop smiling, and looking so distracting doing it? Rick realised he hadn’t yet let go of Ren’s hand, and did so hastily, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms.

“I must be tired,” he grumbled.

Kieren sighed sympathetically. “Yeah, me too. Hey, there’s a good view of the runway from the café, want to go check it out?”

“Uh, sure?” He didn’t remember it being too far from the area where most of the passengers for the Manchester flight were gathered, so as long as he could check a departure board, he’d be okay.

“What brings you to Paris?” Kieren asked as he walked comfortably beside Rick, looking at him as he spoke.

Rick gave a small smile. “Was here for the away game.”

“Oh,” he could sense Kieren deflate a little. “Sorry, I don’t know anything about sports.”

He did genuinely sound sorry, and Rick wondered why. He shrugged. “It’s okay, not for everyone.” It would be nice if it was – Rick loved sports and followed quite a few. It was always a good talking point. He wondered where that might leave the two of them. “What about you?” he asked. “Were you here on holiday?”

Kieren nodded, looking up at they approached the huge glass window that overlooked the dark runway. The snow that had fallen earlier still lay over the tarmac, and there didn’t appear to be any activity going on. As he leant against the glass to try and peer further, Kieren sighed. “Wonder if we’ll get home…” He then turned his body towards Rick, even though his gaze remained fixed out the window. “I’m an art student. Thought I’d come here for a week or so before the next semester started.”

Rick felt out of his depth, and when Kieren turned to look directly at him, a small smile on his lips, he knew he was lost. Nothing intelligent to say about art came to mind. “Are you on your own?” he asked redundantly instead.

Shifting to a nearby table and pulling out a chair, Kieren sat down, nodded. “Yep. Want to teach me about sport?” he offered.

Rick took the other seat, surprised at the request, and still no closer to saying anything smart. “What, like the offside rule?”

“Oh god, that’s complicated,” Kieren groaned, slumping slightly. Rick wondered why people thought that. It was simple, really, but no matter how many times he explained it to his mum, she couldn’t get it.

“It just depends on your teammate’s position in relation to the defence when you pass the ball,” he started, unable to help himself. “So if you’re here,” he pointed his finger at a spot on the table, “and your teammate is here,” his other hand pointed a short distance away.

“Wait, wait!” Kieren begged, turning as he tugged his bag from his back. Realising himself, Rick bit his tongue. Kieren just pulled out a sketchpad and a pen, placing them on the table and opening the pad at a blank page. “Can you draw it? So I can look back if I forget?”

Surprised he hadn’t been told to shut up, Rick obliged, explaining the rule as he drew a rough diagram, trying to focus on what he was doing as Kieren leaned in over the table, watching closely as Rick talked.

“So you could pass the ball if the guy was here?” he checked, pointing to a blank spot. Rick nodded.

“Yeah.”

“But not here?”

“Nope.”

Kieren looked up at him, obviously pleased with himself and smiling. “I didn’t realise it was that simple.”

Rick returned the smile. “Easy when you know how.”

As Kieren looked back down at the diagram, Rick let his gaze drift to the window. He could see Kieren’s reflection in it, so could watch him indirectly. He really was incredibly attractive for a guy, and smiled a lot. That definitely helped. Rick realised how one-sided the conversation had been, though, and turned back, wanting to redress the balance.

“Is this your sketchpad?” he asked, indicating towards the pad open on the table between them. Kieren nodded. “Would you show me some of your stuff? If you don’t mind, that is?”

“Sure,” Kieren said easily, although dragged the sketchpad towards himself and carefully flicked through the pages and tore one out. Rick couldn’t see what was on it.

“They’re just rough sketches,” Kieren was explaining as he pushed the pad back onto the table and towards Rick. He didn’t ask about the page that had just been removed. “I prefer acrylics and gouache, but this is just… sometimes I need to doodle, you know?”

Rick would never have called what he saw ‘doodles’. A few of them were incomplete, and seemed rushed or had a roughness to them, but they were all incredibly good. He found himself pausing on each page longer than the last. The majority of the pages had several different things on them – different eyes, lips, a few astonishingly good sketches of hands – whereas others were given over to one drawing, and some were in colour. Kieren obviously favoured drawing people, but there were some sketches of Parisian streets and landmarks, including the Eiffel Tower.

“You’re… amazing…” Rick final managed, still looking at the drawings.

“Do you like art?” Kieren asked gently, almost hopefully. Rick had to bite back the first response that came to mind: ‘I do now’ would sound ridiculous.

Instead, he shook his head slightly. “I don’t know anything about it,” he admitted, finally looking up apologetically. It reminded him of when Kieren admitted he knew nothing about sport; Rick wished he knew something about art, so he could talk more with Kieren and not sound like a total idiot. He also realised that Kieren hadn’t responded to his compliment, so he tried again. “I know you’re good though.”

Kieren seemed caught between blushing with embarrassment and grinning widely, and the sight was endearing. It was well after one in the morning in a Parisian airport, and Rick suddenly felt lighter and happier than he had done in a long time. It was easy to smile back. “You really are,” he repeated, turning another page and looking at the artwork.

Whatever Kieren might have been about to say in response, it was cut short when an announcement pinged on, and Rick couldn’t help but pull a face in frustration, resigning himself to sitting through the French part first before the woman would switch to English. She didn’t get far before Kieren sighed heavily, reaching out to pull his sketchpad back. Although Rick realised Kieren could understand French, he waited for the English part, watching as Kieren slid the torn out page from his lap and back into the pad without Rick seeing the art.

He understood the change in Kieren’s demeanour. The flight had been cancelled, and passengers were to report to staff who would arrange accommodation. Great. A night on the airport floor with only what he had in hand luggage. Rick’s mood quickly dipped, and he reluctantly dragged himself to his feet. Kieren walked silently beside him, until Rick finally decided to make the most of the chance to chat with someone before he was resigned to a cold, hard floor somewhere for the night.

“You speak French?”

He saw Kieren nod out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah, I kinda have a thing for France,” he admitted. Rick grinned.

“So many things I could say,” he teased. Kieren sighed almost sadly.

“I’d have heard it all before.”

Rick didn’t like that tone, or the implication, and stopped walking, looking seriously at Kieren when the other guy stopped too. “I wouldn’t have meant anything by it,” he promised sincerely. He hadn’t thought that people might have already teased Kieren, or that it might have gotten to him like that.

Kieren gave a small nod, and a mumbled ‘okay’ in acceptance, before they started walking again.

“France has good food,” Rick offered, feeling like he should make up for anyone who was a dick to Kieren for liking France, its language and culture.

“It does,” Kieren agreed, a lighter tone back in his voice. “I’m dying for a chippie though.”

“Oh god, don’t!” Rick pleaded, suddenly hungry for some fish and chips. Beside him, Kieren chucked.

“Hey, Rick?” he asked as they caught sight of the crowd around the service desk. “Want to double up if they have a twin room or anything?”

The offer caught him by surprise, and Rick faltered, trying to find his voice. “Uh, sure? I thought they’d just shove us in a corner with a blanket until morning though,” he admitted.

“Ugh, I hope not!”

Rick was silent as they drew near, still smiling at Kieren’s indignation as they took their place side-by-side in the rough semblance of a line.

“But either way, company would be nice,” he conceded after a moment. Kieren gave him another brilliant smile. “I’ll even give you my blanket.”

“Such a gentleman,” Kieren teased, nudging Rick. The contact surprised and warmed him pleasantly.

“Of course,” he replied easily.

“Does this mean if there’s just one bed you’ll take the sofa?”

“Or get them to give me my own room,” he shrugged, then shaking his head at the idea of being on his own when he didn’t have to be. “You can have the bed.”

It didn’t matter if they ended up in a hotel or on the airport floor, Rick was just grateful for the company, and was actually glad for temperamental winter weather because, for once, not going anywhere was pretty damn nice.


End file.
